The World on His Shoulders
by dotheyreally
Summary: The ghosts he clung to had left him with nothing but borrowed memories, but he had to realize sooner that not all of them have to be taken away.


**Disclaimer: I wish I owned HIMYM like I own Ted Mosby. Hahahah, not jk. All right fine, half jk for copyright issues. hehehe. This is a character study fic I wrote for this beloved character. Hope you like it!**

He rested his fingernails on the brown table and scraped at the already faded paint, the bits coming off one by one and they fell to the floor. The bar was at its usual peak, the noise filling his ears with the familiar sounds of solid gimmicks and drunk women. Carl The Bartender was serving drinks like crazy, the glasses clinking on the table as he dropped them hurriedly, moving onto the next table. He stared at the onset of farcicality in McLarens and found himself still lost.

In a place so crowded, why had he felt most alone? How could he even _allow _himself to feel that in such a way, when he called this bar a frequenter, his _home away from home_, as those adages say. Was it the constant sinking in of his most desired dreams dissipating? The ghosts of his friends laughing in the booth with him, Marshall giving his two cents about the environment, Barney talking about his latest conquests, and Lily giving some offbeat comment about—

He couldn't say it without choking, or even feeling the slightest pain, a twinge in his heart. God, he wanted to retch. How had he even allowed himself not to move on, to hold onto things borrowed while she was moving on all by herself? She had that Argentinian turd Gael, she had Don, and for heaven's sake, she had _Barney Stinson _for a while. Was the Universe too cruel to him that he had to suffer in this toxic relationship with the three of them for seven long years?

Was it always this painful for someone to pick up the pieces for a mess he was supposed to clean up years ago? Why wasn't she the one suffering instead of him? Why does he always still hold on to her when she clearly had let him go?

_We have weird_, Victoria had said as her face moulded into a frown. She looked pretty that night, and somehow all those feelings had come back, or maybe it was because Robin had that dress on. He couldn't tell, or if he was denying, he was doing a pretty great job.

"You've been staring at that wall for ten minutes," the woman interrupted him, and threw him a strange look. "Is there something on there that interests you more?"

"What's it to you?" he said harshly, and the woman was taken aback. His blood boiled, unabashedly full of shame and regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. God, I've had a rough day and well, I didn't mean to take it out on you—"

"Well, that could be some memory we could have," she smiled. "Who're you?"

He looks at her hand tentatively and clasps hers with his own. He smiles carefully. "Ted Mosby, and yours?"

She just smiles.

He stares up at the ceiling sometimes, as he tucks himself away in his pajama top and bottoms and wonders what he had done to deserve all this. His parents were divorced and he had to find out all by himself after his dad had a heated mouth-to-mouth exchange with a waitress in this very bar. He was engaged, and when he finally felt that feeling, that sense of accomplishment, and when he was dressed in that black tie (Barney would have been proud), Stella ran away with her former flame.

The things he gets in with people end up with him alone. He was meant to be a fleeting soul, who can never settle and instead finds. He is stuck in the confines of his very mind, and believes that in one way or another, he will be rescued. But it's been too damn long, when will that come around?

Was life only made up of borrowed memories? Was he only ever allowed to steal happiness and not have it for his own? All his adult life, he'd never known what it's like to have someone for a long time, and Robin was the only one who'd gone through that.

Losing Robin had been the hugest hole he'd cut out for himself, realizing that after she stepped out of the bar after kind of sealing their friendship anew that things would still not be the same. But how could that be? She was the other half of him, if he could say it more technically. She had not only been there for him when he needed her, but he had also been for her when she needed him. She considered him _the right guy_, _the one she missed most, _and the person _she wanted to see after everything she'd been through_. But what about him? Why couldn't he be that for her?

Everything always had to come with a loan, and for once Ted wished he could nab happiness and hide it for a rainy day.

Had loving been so hard for everyone else but him? How could he be cursed with the ability to love easily? How could he be jilted enough to love people who never loved him back?

It's two different things, Ted, and what would you choose? Loving someone who loves you or loving someone you love? You can never really tell if you don't ask.

He stole a blue french horn, threw three parties, gave her a Highway to Hell Christmas concert, so how did it all end up on him? How come it felt utterly impossible to brave this storm of losing her?

And how come it was always expected of him to move on so fast, when he himself knew his Achilles' heel was holding on?

"It's always Ted Mosby has this, Ted Mosby has got that. But really, when can I ever make mistakes?" he said, fiddling with the top of the beer bottle. His friends expected so much from him, and somehow it felt like they've always been served with a dish of broken commitments.

He was nothing but a huge joke, and people would soon realize. His kids would realize. God, his _kids_. Luke and Leia. They would have gladly turned over and swear to the Sith lords faster than even associate themselves with their family name.

"I don't think you've always felt that way," the woman beside him said, flicking her Economics textbook pages. She highlighted prettily, with her pink markers and her yellow ones lined up beside her on the right. "You shouldn't."

"I wish people would stop pitying me," he admitted, sighing as he took a swig of his beer. He sat it back down and turned to her. "I'm this old, and it's been years since I've told my friends that I'll commit just like perfect couple Marshall and Lily. But where is she?"

"Go to sleep, Ted," she smiled, and for a while he saw Robin again. Had it been two weeks since she openly handed him Quinn's apartment? But it was only the woman, the woman he'd been having drinks with for two days. "I'm sure it'll only get better in the morning."

He checks the clock. "It's 1:45. I'd best be going."

"You manage time in increments of fifteen?" she laughs, packing her things.

"Nothing good ever happens after two AM." He had insisted.

_Look, I—I'm sorry, I can't do that anymore. As long as the door is even a little bit open I have this feeling that I'll just be waiting around to see if I win the lottery when you turn 40. I think you know how you feel about me now. I don't think time's gonna change that._

They blamed him for not committing when he had said that. He could have sworn the lines of disappointment on Robin's face had etched themselves visibly, and so he set out for sleepless nights, thinking about how or why he had broken this promise for the first time. How he could even let go of a promise he himself had carved between them when they both had that dinner date in his apartment.

They always expect him to be there for them, but when was the last time they were there for him? He could only count the times, and while he may put out to be the butt of all things spoof architecture to the times where he had asked them to come with him to Yankovic concerts, he could allow that. But asking him to move on so quickly is a challenge and it still stung that Lily had not wanted Ted and Robin to work out.

For once, why couldn't they _all _be happy for him?

His eyes were now sunken and full of fatigue. His hair was extra messed, and his blue polo was unbuttoned oddly. He still looked handsome, but the tired kind. The one who needed to have a break, but how could he? He felt like Atlas, and he carried the world on his shoulders, and he was expected to fix it. Like he was the one always at fault, and that he should be controlled by everyone else but himself.

He could hear his own mind laughing, _oh ted, you missed this one up again, big boy._

Why do they always think he'd be around to commit to just about everyone? It happened with Natalie, Stella, and all the other girls he had gone out with? He had allowed Robin to think he'd be there this whole time when she wouldn't find anyone else. How could they think he'd be a last resort, when he himself would always regard them as first priority?

God, he even compared Robin to winning the lottery, but it was true. Love is a numbers game, and Ted just hadn't picked the right ones yet.

"How long do I have to wait?" Ted asked the woman as he drank his beer.

"I'm guessing the fries aren't coming out for another thirty minutes."

His eyes crinkled as he laughed, and the woman smiled at him. "I'm being serious. How long?"

"Well, as long as you keep asking and finding, that's the only one I can throw in right now," she replied offhandedly. "I've been waiting my whole life for the perfect guy too."

He looks at her wistfully, and she shakes her head. "But I didn't mean that to mislead you or something."

He laughs again, and he asks her, "Well, what do you think of me then?"

She stops and thinks for a while. "I think you're a complete idiot."

He needed that.

_Hey, Ted, where are you? Listen, Lily and I were thinking of having a housewarming party over at—well—your former-now our-apartment. So, I was thinking of getting everyone together. Invite everyone just like old times, and I'll handle the dip. –Marshall_

_PS: Barney's planning to patent backboobs. Do you think it's necessary, or is it a bad one that we didn't think about it first? Ring me for tuxedo night too. See you, buddy. Feels like forever._

He shuts his cellphone, and glances as she drinks her champagne.

"Who was that from?" she asked.

"Just Marshall," he replies as if she's known him forever. "He's having a housewarming party upstairs."

"I see," the woman scrunches her nose. "In your former apartment?"

"Apparently," Ted replied as he sits back down on the bar stool. "I kind of left out the part where I pack everything up and leave the house with nothing to start and gave everything else to my friends Marshall and Lily."

"Definitely not vital information," She chuckled lightly. "So, you're without a home right now?"

"Well, no—"

"Oh good, 'cause I was gonna offer you my space but I forgot that I've a roommate so it's _ocupado_ as of the moment."

"It's all right," he smiled. "Barney's girlfriend Quinn just gave me hers because they're moving in together."

"I see."

"It's been five days, and I still haven't gotten your name."

She grins, and she says, "Remember what Cupcake Girl used to say—"

"Victoria." He corrects her.

"Yeah, Victoria," she replied. "She didn't even know anything else except who you were and she found you and vice versa."

"So give me your name." He persisted.

"No," she shakes her head as she packs up. "You'll find me, in one way or another."

Ted puts on his jacket and follows her outside. It was raining, and the New York lights bent on the puddled roads. She slips on her beige raincoat and walks toward the entrance of the bar.

"And how would you know that?"

She opens her umbrella, a bright bright shade of yellow, and looks at him. "I'm a bit closer to home than you've realized."

She twirls around once last time as a ghost of a smile flickers faintly on her face. "Goodbye, Professor T-Dawg."

She disappears into the rain, and after a few minutes she was gone. The streets were bustling, and the New York minute still existed, but Ted Mosby realized one thing: in this endless world of sameness, he knew he was going to be one of those different.


End file.
